Robin's Mistake and Mission
by ScribeofHeroes
Summary: Robin's first mistake led him to explain his mission.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Bruce Wayne, Dick Greyson, or their vigilante identities Batman and Robin.**

 **This story is for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained.**

 **Since I am frozen in indecision with my other Batman story, I decided to post this one, which takes place some years after "Night Watch."**

"So Batman, what do you want me to do?"

Ten-year-old Dick Greyson whispered this while leaning closer to his mentor. His muscles tensed. His fingers and toes gripped the rooftop wall he was perched upon. "Robin" readied himself to spring into action at Batman's command.

The older vigilante watched their targets through binoculars. He remained still as a statue while his partner trembled in anticipation. His voice remained level and soft. "Stay here and watch the door. When one of them tries to escape, tail him. If he gets into a car, plant a tracer on it. Then wait for me to catch up."

"Heh-heh. Good one. So, what do you 'really' want me to do?"

Batman lowered the binoculars and turned his stare upon Dick.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh . . . come on!"

"Stay. Here."

Dick's face creased in a pout.

. . .

Dick grudgingly performed the simple tasks Batman gave him, for a while. Frustration boiled in his stomach, though. Impulsivity buzzed in his brain. His muscles tightened in self-restraint so much, they never fully relaxed during those weeks. Batman later realized the explosion was inevitable.

. . .

Dick panted as he pelted along rooftops. Sweat flew off him as he leapt from one building to another. He was chasing the robber who'd gotten away from Batman.

The man had pulled a gun and grabbed a hostage. So Robin's mentor, not wanting to put the hostage's life in danger, had let the bad-guy go. Batman had known his protege would follow.

When the gunman darted out the door, not knowing backup was waiting outside, Robin sprang into action with a smile. He was grateful for any action. That is, he was always grateful for it in the moment. After it was over, and another long stretch of doing nothing came along, his frustration and bitterness came back to gnaw at him again.

As Robin continued "this" chase, his smile became a scowl. He was used to chasing bad guys by now. This one, though, was yanking a hostage along by her wrist. Seeing a lady treated like that ticked Dick off. He thought of his mother and aunt, and how he would have felt if someone had done that to them.

His orders were to chase not confront. Robin knew this. "However," the current situation was unprecedented and unmentioned. Surely, he could then act in an unprecedented and unmentioned way.

Robin shot his grappling hook onto a building across the street and jumped. He swung toward the fleeing suspect aiming his feet at the man's back. Before he was halfway there, the suspect turned and saw him.

The man paused in his flight. His jaw clenched. He raised his gun, took aim, and fired.

Robin's eyes went wide. His mind and body were stunned at the sensation radiating through them. He'd never felt it before in his short life.

His hands went lax. The line slipped from his fingers. Batman saw him fall from a rooftop yards away. "ROBIN!"

The boy landed on his back atop a parked car. The shooter turned to run again. Batman threw a batarang. The projectile smacked the criminal in the back of his head.

Experiencing the same kind of shock as his victim, the gunman's hands went lax. He let go of his weapon and hostage's arm before falling on his face.

The woman turned with wide open eyes and mouth. "IS HE DEAD?!"

Batman landed on the car next to the sprawled form of his ward. There were no bullet holes in the head or chest, but Dick was bleeding from something between a gash and a scratch just above the temple. While the bullet had only grazed him, Robin hadn't gotten his breath back from the landing. It had dented the car-roof slightly.

He gazed up wide-eyed and gasping. Batman grabbed his arm and pulled the boy into a sitting position. Robin sucked in a breath and spoke. "Ow!" He glanced into Batman's face and froze. The vigilante's jaw looked like a marble between his teeth would split in two.

 **I dedicate this chapter to Sophia the Scribe who encouraged me to post this story.**

 **If you liked this chapter, tell me. If not, tell me how to improve it. :)**

 **God Bless**

 **ScribeofHeroes**


	2. Chapter 2

**I did not create, nor do I own, Commissioner Gordon, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, Dick Greyson, or the latter two's vigilante identities Batman and Robin.**

 **This story is for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained.**

Batman pulled a cloth from his belt while instructing Robin to press it against his cut. Then he stalked to the lady standing by her unconscious kidnapper. He reassured her of Robin's condition, handcuffed the bad guy, and radioed Gordon. "Commissioner."

"Batman! Where are you, what's the situation?!"

"We're on 17th Street 3 blocks south of the bank. The suspect is down and restrained. The hostage is bruised, but safe. My partner's received a head wound, though. It's only a bullet graze, but I need to get him back to our base of operations. Pick up the suspect as soon as possible."

"Partner?!" The Commissioner froze and stared straight ahead. Then he lifted the radio to his lips again. "Batman, is the rumor a child's been assisting you true?"

There was an uncharacteristic pause from the vigilante, followed by his usual monosyllabic reply. "Yes."

"Tomorrow night, I want to meet on the roof for a talk."

"I'll be there."

Robin thought he'd swallowed a pear-pit. Acid roiled in his stomach. He wanted to throw up. He felt like kids do when they misbehave in front of their parents and others. Some moms and dads don't punish their children in front of other people. The child can feel their punishment coming, though. They hear it in their parents' careful, clipped words and see it in their mother and father's refusal to look their direction. The child may wish to receive their punishment in front of witnesses, but know their parents will wait until they have them alone. This was Robin's situation.

The police arrived and took over matters. Gordon glared at Batman's back while he walked Robin to the Bat-Car. The vigilante drove them to the Cave in silence.

Robin not only didn't speak on the journey, he didn't move. When they parked, he melted even further down into the passenger seat. Batman's command got him moving again. "Get out."

Robin jumped. Then he undid his harness-belt, opened the door, and sprang out before shutting the passenger door gingerly behind him. Batman's copied him with slower, calmer movements, but slammed his. "Follow me."

Robin did keeping four steps between them until Batman reached the examination table. His mentor turned back to face him. "Sit here."

Robin normally leapt onto things. This time he crawled. Batman didn't watch, but went to a cabinet where he got gauze, bandages, and disinfectant. He poured some of the latter into the gauze. Then he returned and reached out to take away the cloth he'd given Robin earlier. He pulled it away. Drops of blood fell from the saturated cloth to stain the cot. Robin gulped. Batman removed Robin's mask and pressed the gauze and disinfectant to his cut. Robin hissed. He pressed his teeth together like shut scissor jaws, so as not to make any other sound. Again, only Batman spoke. "Hold this."

Alfred came down to check on them. His eyes widened at the sight of Robin. Then they widened again as Batman sent him back upstairs so he could have a "talk" with his ward alone.

When the elevator door had sealed Alfred in, Batman spun around and stared at Dick. The boy flinched. His mentor growled like a bulldozer shoving a mountain of gravel. "Do you realize what could have happened to you?"

Dick's whisper barely bounced off the cave walls. "Yeah . . . I could've died."

"EXACLTY!"

Robin flinched again. He bent over, rested his elbows on his knees, and set his chin in his hands. "I'm sorry . . ."

He stared at nothing with the expression of a sad puppy while Batman paced up and down in front of him. While Alfred was there, Batman had wrapped his ward's head in bandages making him look like he wore a white headband. The visual reminder of how Robin put his life on the line against orders gave Batman the desire to _shake him_ every time he glanced his direction. Since he'd promised himself he'd never get physical with Robin in anger, he put his rage into words instead. "I told you again and again, 'Just follow them and see where they go, don't engage 'especially' when you see they have a gun!'"

" _I know . . ._ but . . . he had that lady with him!"

"And a gun! When I saw him leave with her, do you know what I said to myself? 'I don't have to worry, because my _partner's_ outside. He'll follow and see where the suspect takes her. Then I can find all three of them, and _we_ can handle the situation together.' You didn't even try to see if I was following you!"

"But he was _hurting_ her!"

Robin looked up with clasped hands and big eyes. Batman didn't give him a glance. "He could have hurt _both_ of you a lot worse! You got lucky!"

Robin slumped. He set his chin in his hands again and lowered his gaze to the floor. "I just . . . wanted to actually . . . do something."

Batman paused. He turned to stare at his protege. He studied the boy's body-language and reviewed what he'd noticed of it that night. He concluded Robin hadn't shown a sign of defiance after the incident. In fact, he'd been extremely submissive since.

Batman spoke again in a calmer, quieter tone. "If you want to do more than tail, you should work on your throwing or fighting. Swinging _directly_ at someone with a gun, however, is 'not' a good idea."

Robin snapped upright. His chin rose and eyes burned. A snarl entered his voice. "How would _you_ know how I'm doing with my throwing and fighting? You haven't worked with me on them for weeks!"

Under his mask, Batman raised an eyebrow. Then he reviewed dates in his head. He "had" left Robin's martial arts training in Alfred's hands for months. He hadn't checked Robin's throwing for the same amount of time. He nodded. "Alright. Show me."

Dick grabbed a batarang and threw it. It landed in the hand of a training dummy twelve yards away. Batman froze.

When Robin had first tried throwing a batarang, he hadn't been able to hit the target from six feet away. Batman had given him directions while observing his practice sessions. After a month or so, he'd stopped. Why had he stopped?

He'd been preparing for and attending board meetings, studying convict files, doing research, and analyzing clues from open cases. A pricking conscious guided him toward his _true_ reason, though. He'd seen Robin was getting better. He hadn't wanted to admit this. He hadn't wanted to believe the time was coming to tell Dick he was ready to use those skills in a _real_ situation.

Batman closed his eyes and tucked his chin in. He forced his words out soft and low. "You've improved."

Robin slouched back into his previous position, hands pressed into his cheeks, elbows set upon his knees. He sighed. "I wanted to ask you if I could use them sometime out there, but you kept saying I should wait a whole _year_ before doing anything besides tailing. I know it hasn't been that long, but I've been trying _really_ hard. I kept hoping you might notice."

Batman flinched. He'd gotten out of touch with his ward. How out of touch, he was just beginning to realize, and only inches of aim had kept Dick from dying tonight.

His protege had worked hard. He had a lot of potential. Robin was capable of being much more than a tail. If Batman didn't let him spread his wings soon, he might lose him altogether, one way or another. At the very least Bruce needed to spend more time with Dick.

Batman swallowed a sigh and spoke steady and low. "You've put a lot of work into your throwing and fighting. Alfred told me how you've approved in the latter. I think you can do a little bit more than tail now. If you prove yourself ready while training with me a few hours a day this month, and I don't have a particular reason to want a suspect followed instead of captured, you can take them down yourself."

Robin's mouth dropped open. He straightened. His hands gripped the edge of the examination table. Their knuckles turned white under his gloves. "REALLY?!"

Batman nodded. There was no change in his expression and tone as he continued. "Yes, but you 'have' to do it 'right'."

The vigilante squatted down until he was at eye level with his protégé. He tried to give gravity to his words, so Dick would take what he was saying seriously. "You first need to use the batarang to knock any weapons out of their hands, _before_ you approach them, and we're going to practice until you can throw one and hit my hand before I pull anything from my belt. We're also going to work even harder on your fighting, 'together.' Think you can handle that?"

"YEAH!"

Robin leapt out of his seat. He landed on his mentor, wrapping his arms around the man's neck. Bruce smiled slightly and wondered if Dick could hang on to that exuberance throughout the entire course of his training. He doubted it, but if the boy had pushed himself toward perfection on his own during the past few weeks. Batman also doubted Dick would give up. He wrapped his own arms around the boy in return. Then he frowned.

Still ... _What would Gordon say?_ Batman's form slumped slightly at the thought.

 **If you liked this chapter, tell me. If not, tell me how to improve it. :)**

 **God Bless**

 **ScribeofHeroes**


	3. Chapter 3

**I did not create, nor do I own, Commissioner Gordon, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, Dick Greyson, or the latter two's vigilante identities Batman and Robin.**

 **This story is for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained**

The next night, Commissioner Gordon stepped out onto the rooftop of police headquarters pulling a pipe from his pocket. He strode back and forth leaving trails of puffs that melted into the night. His fingers trembled as he removed the stem from his lips and blew out a stream of smoke.

Tonight, he would reprimand the Dark Knight. How would the vigilante take it? What could he do to stop him by force if he had to? Could he call in reinforcements? The national guard?

The father in him steeled his spine. He would not let slide the vigilante's partner in cleaning up Gotham City being a child. The Batman was endangering a child! He would never have believed it if he hadn't seen it.

And the child has been shot at yesterday. He had received a bullet graze. No. This had to stop. Gordon's hand shook worse as he stuck the stem back between his teeth, clenched his jaw, and sucked in.

The Dark Knight stood yards off on a higher rooftop. His gaze followed the pacing figure. His stomach felt like he'd swallowed the tobacco the other man was burning up.

The Commissioner couldn't beat Batman in a fight. Gordon only knew a little boxing. Bruce had trained in hand-to-hand combat on every continent. While the officer had a quick draw and accurate aim, Bruce and Batman had disarmed faster. The GPD probably couldn't succeed in capturing and arresting the Dark Knight. None of them had trained in disguise and evasive maneuvers with retired members of the CIA and MI6. They may not even be able to prevent him from continuing his mission. Still, the older man's opinion mattered.

Outside those who knew him without the mask, Gordon was the closest thing he had to a friend. They shared a common goal. Most at the GPD had just taken their paychecks and more while looking the other way for all but the most minor offenses by the weakest offenders. Gordon had kept his eyes open and bank account small. They had a common passion for achieving their goal. Gordon's voice came from his gut when he held his gun out and ordered criminals to stand down. They shared a common commitment. Even when the scent of gun-smoke and smog clung to their clothing as they slumped into their cars, grabbed the steering wheel, and realized nothing had changed from the night before and the night before that, they came back. They'd worked with each other for over a year. All that time Gordon had looked him in the eye.

Losing that camaraderie now would not only make their work harder. They would both be weaker. They would both be fighting, even avoiding each other. He couldn't even say the Commissioner was wrong.

If having Robin's aid was against Gordon's moral code for himself and those he worked with, Batman would have to choose between them. He didn't look forward to making that choice, especially after his talk with Dick. He must hear the man out before deciding how to proceed.

He shot his grappling hook onto an even taller building behind the GPD and swung down. His dark cape flew out like two, black wings. He drew them in with a slight flap, before landing with the softest thud. He rose in increment before staring down at the commissioner.

Gordon had stopped, turned, and stood still and straight. He raised his gaze just a degree to look the vigilante in the eye. The creases around his eyes, nose, and mouth were deeper than usual. Batman's jaw was smooth and eyes veiled.

The police-man's chin jerked down and in. His bit out a word. "Batman."

The vigilante dipped his head and spoke more slowly. "Commissioner."

Sarcasm dripped from the officer's voice. "How's your 'partner's' head wound?"

Batman's stomach clenched. His eyes narrowed, but his voice remained deep and even. "It was a deep scratch. I cleaned and bandaged it. The flesh should heal over in a week. I talked to him about his foolishness. He promised to never repeat that mistake."

Gordon raised an eyebrow. "You think that solves everything?"

"No …"

"Did it ever occur to you a child doesn't belong on these streets after night-fall, let alone stalking them as a masked crime-fighter?"

"Several times."

"Then why is he helping you do a job I didn't tell my wife, let alone my kids, the details of when I got back home every night?!"

"Because he's that exceptional."

"WHAT?!"

Batman straightened to his full height. His cape fell around his frame to hide it in straight, dark lines. He looked Commissioner Gordon in the eye. His deep voice resonated over the rooftop. "I think your points valid. I would agree with your conclusion 99.99% of the time, but not in this case. Even before I started training him, I knew he was more capable of keeping up with me as I do this work than any man in Gotham. No offense meant to you or your officers. He's not only a child. He's a skilled athlete. He has more passion, drive, and devotion toward what we believe in than most men. Again, with the greatest respect to your force. Up until tonight, he's kept a cool head in incredibly stressful situations, and he's always obeyed me. I take the blame for his actions last night. I've spoken to him about them. He told me he wouldn't repeat the mistake. With more training and obedience to my orders, I believe he could be almost effective as and much safer than myself during our time on the streets.

"And what, precisely, is going to keep him so safe on the meanest streets of what is still this nation's most dangerous city?"

"Me."

Gordon stuck his pipe back in his mouth. His cheeks narrowed as his eyes burned. Batman stared back smooth-jawed.

The stillness of the vigilante's form made it seem like black stone. His height made him reminiscent of a wall. From above it, his eye-coverings resembled sniper scopes. Gordon had always thought if he or one of his loved ones was in danger, he'd want The Batman's help. But even the Dark Knight could not wipe away all concerns this time. "And that makes it alright?"

Batman softened his voice slightly. "I didn't come to my decision easily, Commissioner. I wrestled with the same questions you did. Trust my judgement on this."

It occurred to the Commissioner, he would never get the answers he needed from The Batman. The vigilante was too cool, composed, careful. He needed to investigate the source of this issue. "I want to talk to the kid. Alone."

Batman was silent for four seconds. Then, "I can arrange that."

"Please do."

"But I need you to promise me three things, first."

"Oh?"

"One. You will not ask him to disclose our secret identities, his or mine."

Commissioner Gordon nodded. "Alright …"

"Two. You will not ask him questions about his personal life that could give you clues to our secret identities. Where we live, where he goes to school, how he's related or not related to me. If you do ask him such questions, I will have already told him to respectfully not answer. You may only ask him about our work, and how it affects him."

Commissioner Gordon's scowl deepened. "AND, how you treat him."

Batman's form stiffened further. His eyes widened behind their coverings. His strongest ally thought … Yes. His chin dipped slightly. It was a valid concern. And if Gordon did ask, could Robin him a truthful answer that wouldn't confirm his fears?

He'd tried, but would the training he put Dick through count as child-battery? Robin sometimes walked away from their sparring matches bruised. He had to show him he wasn't ready yet, prepare him for foes with no mercy.

Still, if Dick's mother was alive, if any member of his family was alive, how would they feel about it? How would a Child welfare worker feel about it? An ironic situation for him to be in, considering he'd personally lobbied for a mass overhaul of Gotham Social Services.

Images of Robin, of Dick, being removed from his side played out in his mind. Whether he was taken away from Batman or Bruce Wayne, Dick would not surrender quietly to a removal. Whatever else he was guilty of, making Dick hate him was not it, yet.

At first, it had only been their shared pain, their ability to understand each other's losses that had bound them together. Now? After all the hours spent together, lessons, disappointments, triumphs, even laughter and jokes … usually initiated by Dick … Bruce realized somewhere along the way he'd begun to think of Dick as "his" despite his best efforts not to. His … what, he wasn't sure yet. He didn't feel comfortable calling the last remaining Greyson his son, but the term "ward" no longer encompassed Dick's relationship to him anymore. He was more than the last member of the family he'd failed. He remained enough of a that to be still be a Greyson. What were they?

He still thought that he could willingly, sacrificially, give up Dick for the boy's own good. However, it would be harder tomorrow than it would have been yesterday. There was no reason it should not only grow harder.

Still … No. If Dick was going to leave him, it would not be as Robin. He would not be led away during a "Batman caught abusing child, decked out as costumed vigilante" media frenzy that would expose both their identities. That had to be made clear here and now. "Three. You will not try to take him away from me."

Annoyance had been squirming in Gordon's guts. Batman had been making him promise to not do things he ought to know he wouldn't after all their time working together. This one, however, he had been thinking about. Despite all his respect for Batman, he had never thought of him as someone who should raise kids. He obviously pushed himself hard. He had to. How hard must he be pressing this kid?

Gordon had in the back of his mind been thinking of having a Child Services representative standing by. In case he found bruises on the kid's arm from being grabbed and squeezed too hard, or signs of injuries consistent with pushing a young body too far, too fast.

He would try to make sure it was done as quietly as possible. He would try to make sure that even when his mask came off his identity wasn't leaked to the press, or even to the rest of the office, or much of Child Services. He wasn't even sure the kid would have a traceable identity. So many children on the streets of Gotham received such a lack of concern there wasn't much of a paper trail on them, especially if they didn't give their name. This time Gordon squinted. His voice had gone hard. "Don't give me a reason to."

He focused on the vigilante's face to see his reaction. Batman broke eye contact. He closed his eyes behind their coverings. His head bowed lower. His shoulders slumped. In all the time they had worked together, Gordon had only seen him look so defeated twice. Not even when a killer walked out through a legal loophole did his partner look like this.

When the Batman spoke again it was in a whisper. "If you believe it's necessary after your meeting, I won't let him work with me anymore, at least no until he's an adult. I'll make sure he returns to as normal and healthy a childhood as I can provide. Just don't … put him … through a removal. Please."

Gordon had been staring at him with raised eyebrows. Now they rose further to make way for his widening eyes. The pipe fell from his lips into a grasping hand. "You've bonded."

Batman raised his gaze. His eyes narrowed and jaw set. A growl resonated over the roof. "Do. Not. Let. That. Go. Beyond. Us. The less our enemies think I care about him, the safer he'll be."

Gordon's eyes narrowed back. He stuffed the pipe stem between his teeth and grit them over it as he replied. "Just be careful the act you put on to convince them you don't isn't 'too' realistic."

The Dark Knight straightened and nodded. Then he turned away and walked to the rooftop's western edge. He shot his grappling hook off into the night. Then, he placed one foot on the ledge and looked back. His gaze met the commissioner's. "He'll meet you in your office sometime tomorrow, after four p.m."

Gordon straightened. His chest rose. There were few he would ask to watch his kids. His mother, his wife before her death … Batman had "not" been on the list, but now … he was on his. The officer's instincts told him this was more trust than it took the vigilante to swing into his sights when he had his gun out.

The Commissioner took his pipe back out of his mouth, blew out some smoke, and nodded. The Batman nodded back. Then he looked down at the street before stepping off the rooftop and swinging into the night. Its shadows swallowed him. Gordon walked over to the place the vigilante had been and stared out in thought.

 **Write and tell me what you think I did right, and what you think I can do better.**

 **God Bless**

 **ScribeofHeroes**


	4. Chapter 4

**I did not create, nor do I own, Commissioner Gordon, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, Dick Greyson, or the latter two's vigilante identities Batman and Robin.**

 **This story is for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained.**

"You want me to talk with him?!"

Dick stared open-mouthed across the breakfast table. Bruce's eyes narrowed. He let a forkful of scrambled eggs hang in the air as he replied. "We need his cooperation, Dick. He asked to speak with you privately. I don't think that's too much to ask."

Dick dropped his own fork and flung out his arms. "But BRUCE! What if he recognizes me? He saw and questioned me back when . . . you know . . ." The boy's hands fell to his sides as the corners of his mouth sagged.

Bruce's own face went lax. He hadn't wanted the conversation to bring up "that" memory. He didn't want Dick frightened of this appointment either. Having Gordon afraid for his young partner was one thing, having his young partner afraid "of" the Commissioner was another.

Setting his arms on the table, Bruce bent his head and rubbed his temple. He pushed the panic roiling in his own stomach down to responded evenly. "That was almost a year ago, Dick. You're two inches taller, and you'll be in costume."

"Why does he want to talk to me anyway?"

Bruce set his chin on his interlaced fingers and raised his gaze to meet his ward's. "He wants to make sure you're okay."

Dick squinted back and tilted his head. "Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"Because, I take you with me to dangerous parts of the city and there let you help me capture dangerous people."

Dick dropped his fork and swung his arms out again. "But all you let me do is tail!"

"Yes. But now that you'll be taking a more active role on missions, I won't be able to hide the fact I'm letting you take a more active role on missions. It's not unreasonable for Gordon to be concerned. Maybe if he talks with you, it will ease his mind. Maybe not. But I will not refuse his request."

The boy grimaced while gripping the seat of his chair. His knuckles turned white. "What if I just make things worse?"

Bruce kept his expression and tone neutral. "Then I'll talk to him again."

Dick squirmed. "What if that doesn't help either?"

"Then we'll continue your training, but wait several years before you put it into practice on the streets."

The boy's mouth fell open again. "But . . . You said . . ."

"I said you could do this job when you were ready. But maybe . . . 'I'm' not the best judge of that."

Robin's arms rose farther than ever. His voice rose even higher. "But, you're Batman!"

A smile spread across Bruce's face. To the boy who'd taped Batman articles up on the wall of his family's trailer, he was still more legend than man. Bruce hoped Dick would grow out of that soon, but not too soon. The boy's awe kept him more obedient. Still, he wanted Dick to respect The Commissioner too.

"Gordon is a good cop, a good man, and a good father. I respect his opinion. We'll see what he says."

Robin shut his eyes, raised his face to the ceiling, and groaned. "So, if he says I have to wait till I'm EIGHTY to be Robin again, you'll agree?"

"No . . . but if he says you have to wait until you're eighteen, I may."

"Awwwwwwwwww . . ."

Around four-fifteen that afternoon, a forlorn, little figure in bright costume and black cape walked into the GPD. With sagging shoulders and bent head, he marched to the front desk and asked where Commissioner Gordon's office was. The receptionist's eyes almost fell from her head.

Gordon was surprised the boy hadn't just snuck in the window like his shadowed guardian. He didn't realize Robin was feeling too heavy for swinging through the air with the greatest of ease. The boy walked through his office door drooping in form and in face.

Gordon hid a smile. He decided to concentrate on putting the kid at ease before beginning his interrogation. He slapped the back of a wooden chair near his desk. "Sit down right over here, son. Then we'll have a man-to-man talk."

Robin sat down. His feet hovered over the floor. His knees had to unbend if he wanted to press his shoulders into the backrest. He perched on the front edge of the seat instead and gripped it with his fingers. His mouth, head, and shoulders drooped a little less at Gordon's words. He raised his own gaze just enough to meet Gordon's. "Batman said you wanted to talk to me, sir?"

The commissioner blinked. He was pretty sure ninety percent of Gotham City's youth weren't that polite. His own were in the ten. He'd seen enough of their friends, and kids on the job, though, to know how little care was usually given to teaching manners to the majority of Gotham's youth. He wasn't sure if this was a good or bad sign, however. A polite child could be an abused child. Gordon set his mug down, folded his arms, and started in on the questioning.

"Yes, I did. Are you aware, how near you came to getting hurt the other night? Really hurt?"

"Yes sir . . . , Batman told me. He was real upset."

"I was too. What does Batman tell you about how dangerous the work you two do is?"

The boy, suddenly swept his arms out as his voice rose several decibels."Everything!"

Gordon swallowed a smile and raised an eyebrow. "Everything . . . ?"

Robin slumped a little again. "Well . . . , at least a lot! He told me not to do anything but tail. He didn't even want the bad guys to know I was there. It was supposed to be a secret. I was sort of his secret weapon, to make sure no bad guy got away. Only by tailing them though. But . . . I didn't obey him last time. I saw that robber hurting that lady by yanking her after him while he ran away and ... I just wanted to stop him."

The boy sounded ashamed. Gordon pursed his lips. Obviously, the Batman "had" hammered in hard the seriousness of what the boy had down night before last. Gordon decided it was okay to do a little positive reinforcement now.

"That was brave of you to help her like that, not smart, or right, but brave. Exactly how much bad stuff 'do' you see when you're out with The Batman?"

Robin shrugged. "I don't know. He mostly tries to keep me away from it. I'm only allowed to chase the ones that run away. I don't even see him beat his guys up. I used to just wait in the car. Batman told me if I see things or hear things I don't understand to ask him about them. A lot of the time he just tells me not to say or do those things myself."

Gordon knelt down in front of Robin and looked him in the eye. He lowered and softened his voice. "Have you seen anyone die, or anyone who was already dead?"

Gordon had no idea what he'd asked. He wanted to make sure Robin wasn't seeing things children shouldn't see, because Batman was taking him places children shouldn't go, and making him do things that children shouldn't do. When he asked that question, though, all Robin saw was the death of his family.

Watching them fall. Watching them hit the ground. Seeing them lying there, in awkward, broken positions. The horror of it came back to him in nightmares. He hadn't seen anything like it before, or since, not even on the streets with Batman.

Gordon watched Robin's eyes go wide. All the bravado, comfortableness, and friendliness he'd managed to coax from the boy during their interview washed away. Little fingers gripped his chair's seat. Gordon imagined their knuckles going white beneath the black gloves.

Gordon grit his teeth. A wave of anger at Batman for allowing such a memory to enter into the life of a child came over him. Then he heard the kid's answer, and all that anger was snuffed out like a candle.

Robin stared straight ahead as he stammered. "Nnnot with . . . Batman."

Commissioner Gordon started. His own eyes widened. He stood up and rubbed the back of his head.

Where Batman had found this kid? What could he have saved him from? The possibilities in Gotham City were depressing. Gordon wished he could ask, but he'd promised not to. He tried another question instead. "How does Batman prepare you for this work?"

Robin had gone pale as his lax face stared into space. Now, he looked back into the Commissioner's with a grin. Color returned to his cheeks. His chest puffed out. His reply came out in a cheerful, louder voice, with just a hint of the brokenness from earlier. "We ... we train together!"

Gordon raised an eyebrow. "What is that like?"

"Hard, but cool, especially when I get it right!"

The Commissioner smiled. "What did you get right?"

Robin bounced in his seat. "Once I threw Al ..." He froze and paled. "I mean . . . someone else I train with."

"Do you ever get hurt during the training?"

Robin bit his bottom lip. "Sometimes . . . , but Batman's real careful. We work out on a mat, wear gloves and protective headgear, and we always warm up and cool down 'properly.' Once he caught me training after he told me to stop, and he got mad. He said I could get a stress fracture that way!"

"So, in what ways 'do' you get hurt?"

Robin bit his bottom lip a little harder and squirmed, but he didn't break eye-contact. "Weeeeeeeelllllll . . . Sometimes . . . when we spar, I don't dodge fast enough. If it hurts too much, he makes me stop and takes a look. Sometimes he makes me sit down and gets me an ice pack if he thinks it'll swell. He knows a lot about injuries, medicine, and doctor stuff. He makes a HUGE fuss about what I eat!"

Robin spread his arms wide again. Gordon was stroking his chin now as he stared back into the boy's face. "But you don't want to stop . . . , training with him I mean?"

Robin's eyes went wide with horror. "NO! The more I practice, the better I get! He says that if I get good enough he'll let me do more than tail, but I have to be ready, and I have to knock any weapons out of their hands before I swing down and face them!"

The Commissioner raised an eyebrow. "How do you knock weapons out of their hands before you face them?"

Robin grinned wider than ever. "With batarangs!"

Gordon rocked back on his heels. "You can throw a batarang?"

Robin bounced in his seat again. "Yeah! Wanna see?!"

The man rose to his full height. "All right . . . But where can we find a target?"

Robin hopped out of the chair and went to the window. He opened it and looked up and down the street. Suddenly, he stopped, turned back to the Commissioner, and pointed.

"See that old sign?"

The Commissioner went to the window and saw that Robin was pointing to the old billboard of the abandoned building across the street. "Yes . . ."

"I can hit the dot on the letter 'i.'"

"You sure about that son?"

"Sure! Watch!"

He glanced all around to see if he had room to move, got into the throwing stance, pulled a batarang from his belt, squinted in concentration, and threw. His batarang found its target. Gordon's eye widened.

Batman's words echoed in the commissioner's head, _"Because he's that good."_ Then the Batman's other words came to mind. _"He's a skilled athlete, with more passion, drive, and devotion to what we believe in than most of your cops."_ Gordon turned to the boy.

"Robin, why do you want to do this work so badly?"

Robin looked up at him and shrugged. "I want to be a hero."

"Why?"

"Because ... I want to keep people from dying."

Out of all the reasons he thought he'd get, the Commissioner had not expected that one. Robin's eyes bored into him, almost like The Batman's did. Of course, Batman's gaze held a strange mixture of determination, sorrow, despair, and strangely ... hope. This boy's held innocence, faith, resolve and a little bit of sadness . . . as if he had seen the ugly side of life, but still believed good could triumph in the end. The expressions of the two heroes' bore a strange resemblance still.

A war began to wage itself in the heart of the Commissioner. Could this child accomplish a lot doing this job? Yes. He now had to admit he could. Could this child DIE doing this work, though. Yes, he most certainly could. How then could he, or Batman, live with themselves if those eyes closed or just glassed over in death, from doing their job?

"What if you die son?"

Robin's gaze grew even steadier. "I read somewhere a lot of kids in Gotham City die every year. It has a high child ... ummmm . . . mortuary rate?"

The young hero squinted. He tried to remember the long, grown up words used in the Gotham Post article he'd read, right after he'd seen Bruce look serious while reading it and leave the room.

Gordon had cried after reading that article himself. His eyes got a little wet again now. "Mortality rate . . ."

"Oh . . . Anyway . . . what if I can stop some of those kids from dying? What if I can keep a LOT of people from dying? Shouldn't I do it?" Robin stared up at the commissioner head tilted to one side.

Gordon looked gravely down into the young face looking almost as gravely back up at him. Where had this child gotten such high beliefs at this age? He realized the young hero's face had more maturity in it than his own children had had at the same age. What had those eyes seen to make them look like that?

Gordon had started out thinking Batman had somewhere, somehow found a kid. Then, for some unfathomable reason, in some mysterious way, had manipulated that kid into helping him do work no sane adult would do. Now he wondered if Batman had found this kid itching for a way to fight back against the evils he saw all around him, which had hurt him, which The Dark Knight had rescued him from. Then, perhaps reluctantly, Batman had given him this way to fight back. The vigilante had given him the ability to help others going through the same things or to prevent them from going through them. In doing so, perhaps Batman hadn't taken away, but rather given the child back his innocence, and his belief that the world could be a good place. That was, the Commissioner shockingly realized, exactly, what The Batman had done for the law abiding population of Gotham City, and for him.

A tear appeared in the corner of Gordon's eye. "Thanks for coming down son."

"Will you let me keep working with Batman? Will you let me take a . . . a more active role in our work?"

The tear rolled down Gordon's smiling cheek. "Let me give it some thought."

Gordon put his hand on Robin's shoulder and began to walk him out of his office. Once reluctant to enter, the boy now dug his heels in. He began to prattle trying to get as much veiled, polite begging in as possible before the meeting was over. "Batman takes 'really' good care of me Commissioner! He makes sure I eat healthy, and go to school, and get good grades, and get nine hours of sleep, and . . ."

The commissioner chuckled. "I'm sure he does, son."

He gave the kid a polite, little shove out the door. Then he watched in confusion as the boy, instead of heading through the front door, turned and ran up the staircase. Gordon's brows furrowed. Then, squinting, he turned and went to a window. He stuck his head out, but rather than trying to look down at the street, he turned his gaze upwards, toward the roof. A dark form was visible to the corner of his eye. Gordon's gaze snapped around.

There, on a nearby roof, stood The Batman in broad daylight. He almost 'never' appeared between 6 AM and pm. Then a flash of red, gold, green, and black flew almost straight over Gordon's head. Robin landed lightly by the Bat's side. A chirruping voice, bright and joyful as the bird he was named for, drifted on the breeze. "I think he likes me!"

Gordon's face split into a grin. He thought he saw the corner of the Dark Knight's mouth turn up slightly, before he turned away. The boy hugged the vigilante's side like an energetic, obedient puppy. They disappeared beyond the edge of the other rooftop. Gordon's own face continued to beam as he drew his own head back in through the window.

 **Write and tell me what you think I did right, and what you think I can do better. :)**

 **God Bless**

 **ScribeofHeroes**


	5. Chapter 5

**I did not create, nor do I own, Commissioner Gordon, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, Dick Greyson, or the latter two's vigilante identities Batman and Robin.**

 **This story is for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained.**

Gordon stepped out onto the roof. No smoke trail followed him this time. He hadn't brought his pipe.

His hands were stuffed into his pockets, but his shoulders hung in a relaxed state. He strolled about, glancing around. Smog hid the stars, but building lights shone bright all along the surrounding horizon. Then the dark, looming shape of the Batman obscured his view. The vigilante nodded. "Commissioner."

Gordon nodded back. "Batman."

"What were your conclusions from today's meeting?"

Gordon smiled. "That kid really loves you, and he 'is' amazing."

Not a flicker of emotion crossed the Dark Knight's face as he answered. "I know."

The police officer smiled and almost shook his head. _I never had you pegged for a proud father._ "I'm not going to stop you from letting him help us. I trust you with this city. I guess I can trust you with this kid."

The Batman's jaw seemed to relax slightly, but when he spoke, his deep voice sounded tight. "Thank you."

Gordon's eyes widened. His gave a jerk of a head-nod. A moment of silence followed as the two stared at each other. The commissioner broke it. "Just take care of him. He's something special."

The Dark knight nodded. "I will." Then he turned, walked to the edge of the rooftop, and swung off into the night. Gordon smiled softly.

. . .

Robin did not begin to openly accompany Batman into the streets of Gotham that night, nor the next. It took over a month. They had still more training to do.

Once more, the two sparred together. Robin showed marked improvement. The boy's favored moves were from judo, but he also used some from boxing, karate, and kung-fu. His repertoire grew, and his performance of each move became more perfect over the hours, days, and weeks.

Robin also practiced hitting a moving target with a batarang. After that, he practiced throwing two battarangs at once. Then frustration almost broke him.

He had to go back to still targets. He had to shorten his distance from them. He felt like he'd been dragged kicking and screaming into the past when he was new to all this. As Alfred pointed out, though, it was not so. "Tut, tut, Master Dick. Of course you haven't gone backwards. There were not 'two' targets nor 'two' hands throwing batarangs at them then."

After spending hours a day practicing, skimping on sleep and homework to do so, (which Bruce put a stop to when he learned of it), Dick began consistently hitting two targets at the same time with precision. Then the distance he could do this at grew greater. Then the targets could be moving.

Bruce had also let his protégé throw just one batarang at a target several times a day so he wouldn't lose that skill. Robin thoroughly enjoyed these breaks. When Alfred asked The Dark Knight if his decision might have also had to do with keeping the boy's spirits up, Bruce said, "No."

Alfred raised an eyebrow at this. Both he and the lad had noticed the mentor's seeming lack of concern for his protege's confidence. Batman almost never praised Robin beyond "better," "you've improved," and "we can move onto something harder now." Robin only began to suspicion he was truly nearing more time on the streets when Batman had him start memorizing mug-photos and partially blacked-out criminal profiles again.

. . .

The purse-snatcher sped down the alley. His feet set a fast rhythm. One-two-one-two-one-two-one-two. The leather bag he clutched went up, down, up, down, up, down, in like matter. As his lungs screamed for air, his mind wondered why he bothered. He'd seen and heard no cops. And there had to be something more important grabbing the Dark Knight's attention. Surely. This was Gotham.

The Batman stood on a rooftop above the man. The robber still hadn't paused to look up. Most runners didn't. The way garbage lined Gotham's rougher streets made not looking down a bad idea.

Batman stood with one foot on the roof, the other on the short wall surrounding it. His back barely bent to look down. Another perched in like manner next to him, but was far more crouched over. He seemed to be trying to get nearer the action already. Without taking his eyes from their suspect, Batman spoke to the one beside him. "Would you like to go solo with this one?"

A grin flashed over Robin's face. "Yep!"

Batman's protégé sprang away. He matched speed with the criminal. Trusting his estimation of the length of roof-wall left, its steady width, and his instincts, Robin watched the man's hands. One clung to the purse, the other held a gun. He watched the latter. Up-down, up-down, up-down-

Robin threw.

A "clang" filled the alley. The robber froze. His head whipped around to watch his weapon clatter against cobblestones. Then he looked up. His eyes darted among the looming shadows. His adam's-apple bobbed as he swallowed.

With the whip of a grappling line, a figure appeared in front of him. A frame about two-thirds his size straightened. A smile flashed across a round, fresh face.

The mugger started to laugh. He bent over and laid his hands on his knees. The boy's smile disappeared. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow behind his mask. The grown man finally looked up. "Where's your pal?"

Robin shrugged. His smile returned. "Just you and me for now."

A grin flashed over the thief's face. His teeth looked pointed in the light of a streetlamp behind the young vigilante. "Now that's what I like to hear."

Instead of going for his gun, the robber rushed Robin with a cocked-back fist. The boy ducked and came up behind him. There he landed a kick in the seat of the man's pants. The mugger went sprawling on the sidewalk beyond the buildings. Instead of clutching his prize tighter, getting to his feet, and running, he turned. Robin backed out of the way of the next blow and grabbed the man's arm. Then he twisted.

The thief gave a shout. Still holding the purse, he swung it at the boy's head. Robin dropped. The purse slammed against the brick wall instead. The youth darted out of reach again. "You should be careful. If that'd been your fist, you would have broken fingers."

Snarling the man threw another punch with his empty hand. Robin grabbed its wrist, spun, and sent the man sprawling into a stack of trash-bags. Letting go of the purse, the mugger got up and threw another punch. This time, Robin went down, in, and landed a blow in the man's solar-plexus.

His foe's lungs emptied with a whoosh. Long arms folded in over his middle. He fell to his knees. Grabbing and pulling back one of the suspects arms, Robin stepped behind the man and pried over his other arm. Then he snapped on the cuffs.

Batman landed a few feet away from them both. The thief had just gotten enough air back into him to groan at the sight. The Dark Knight ignored him and looked to his protégé. "Finished?"

Robin looked up with a grin. "Yep."

Batman forced himself not to smile back.

. . .

Bullock squinted across the interview room. "You were taken out by what?"

The purse-snatcher beat his fists on the wooden surface. His head snapped up. His eyes bulged out as he snarled. "That kid that hangs out with Bat took me out! Alright! Happy?" He folded his arms and turned his face away."Just get me my lawyer and get out of my face! I got nothin left to say."

Bullock straightened. He lifted his hat from his head and scratched his balding spot, before turning and walking out of the room. Moments after closing one door behind him, he opened another. He strode into the viewing room behind the two-way mirror.

Gordon was there pressing a closed fist against his lips. His shoulders had been bobbing up and down, but stopped when Bullock called to him. "Chief?"

Gordon coughed and spun to face his old partner. "Yes, detective?"

Bullock squinted at him. "I can't smell anything on his breath or see any other usual sign, but that guy's gotta be on something new." The detective lifted a thumb and jabbed it toward the interview room. "He thinks that kid that hangs out with the 'Bat' took him out."

Gordon stuffed his hands in his pockets, lifted his chin, and tried to keep his voice grave. "Well Bullock, then he probably did."

. . .

Robin looked out his window as the batcar pulled into the Cave. His mentor switched the ignition off and turned to him. "Robin?"

The boy looked up at him. His mouth drooped at the corners. "What did I do wrong?"

Behind his mask, Batman raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You aren't … I mean you haven't … Didn't I do a good job?"

The Batman turned away, bowed his head, and gripped the steering wheel. After realizing Dick was "not" going to leave him for another family, Bruce Wayne had started making a concentrated effort on two fronts. 1. Making sure Dick Greyson excelled in every area he could while maintaining a balanced, healthy life. 2. Praising him when he did so. Whether his ward got an A on a quiz, perfectly executed a gymnastic move, or was ready to leave the house well-groomed and packed minutes ahead of schedule, Bruce responded with a phrase of praise. Sometimes it was just an "Excellent," or a "Good work," or a "Good job," but he said something.

This though ... The Dark Knight sighed. _I should have explained earlier._ "Dick."

Robin sat up. Batman had said it was important for them to get in the habit of "never" saying each other's' name in mask. Now he was doing it. The boy's eyes riveted on the older vigilante's face as he went on. "I am 'never' going to praise you for anything you do here or on the streets."

Robin's mouth dropped open. "Why?"

Batman turned the full concentrated power of the Bat-stare on his protégé. The boy crouched a little beneath it, but didn't look away. The Dark Knight deepened his voice. "Because no matter what happens here, or on the streets, or anywhere else to Batman and Robin, I need to know it didn't happen because you were seeking my approval. I will praise you for your scholastic achievements, fitness achievements, and for making the hard, but wise decisions of life. But I will not let you do 'this' for 'that.' 'This' has to be about something else." He paused before continuing. "Do you know what that is, Dick?"

The boy stared back wide-eyed behind his mask. "Yeah …"

"What?"

"Saving lives … We stop, prevent, and interrupts crimes, so we can save lives. That's why we do it."

His mentor nodded. "And that has to be the reason for both of us. Not gaining praise."

Batman turned away and got out of the car. Robin followed him to where they hung up their outfits and became Bruce Wayne and Dick Greyson again. The protégé's voice piped up behind his mentor. "But … I didn't do 'bad' … right?"

"Did I say so?"

"No."

"I would have. The night you do 'bad' is the night I ground you to the cave until I'm sure you'll do well again."

Robin froze, gulped, and then trotted after The Dark knight again. "Okay …"

After a few more steps, the youth smiled. If he hadn't done bad, he'd done good, or at least well enough. And maybe he'd stopped that robber from hurting someone sometime, even if just himself. Batman was right. That was better than a "good job."

Robin rose up on one leg and did a spin before striding forward again. Batman glanced back at the movement. Then he looked forward again, so Robin couldn't see his face. The corners of his lips had quirked up into a slight smile.

 _God bless you, Robin. Don't ever change._

 **If I did something right, please tell me. If I did something wrong, please specifically and kindly point it out. :)**

 **God Bless**

 **ScribeofHeroes**


End file.
